


Workaround

by joycometh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16631552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joycometh/pseuds/joycometh
Summary: Her Slayer Life and her Sex Life aren't always compatible. Still, there's a workaround if you really want it.





	Workaround

In retrospect, they probably shouldn’t have gone out for her birthday at all. The odds were not in her favor.

But hey, you only turn 33 once.

The restaurant? Charming. The dessert? To die for. (And Buffy Summers had fairly high standards for that sort of thing. Desserts and dying both.) The demon that jumped them on the way home? Had spines.

Spines it could apparently shoot at will, tarantula-like.

Spike, the bastard, had been crouching for some maneuver or other and barely gotten grazed. A cut on his cheek and one spine embedded shallowly in his right shoulder.

Buffy, on the other hand, had been sprayed right across the torso. Most of the spines didn’t go in deep but even shallow stabs are debilitating when there are dozens of them. She’d let out a scream and Spike had finally stopped fighting like it was all just part of their evening’s foreplay. In a flash of snarls and leather the demon lay broken-necked on the concrete.

The hospital visit had been painful but routine. Four of the spines had nicked Buffy’s internal organs. The doctor told her it would take about six months to heal. She figured she’d be out of commission for about two weeks.

Unfortunately, that was two weeks to regret the utter lack of mind-blowing birthday sex she’d been planning on. Spike was never stingy, but he seemed to take her birthday as a special challenge. Make her forget that it was an anniversary of anything but joy.

It never quite worked, but she appreciated the effort. _Really_ appreciated the effort.

And this year, she’d gotten squat.

For a while, the pain had been bad enough that she wouldn’t even have wanted sex. And to be honest, Spike was a bit annoying when she was hurt, hovering over her like an anxious puppy and about as helpful.

But then she healed a bit, enough for her insides to start feeling all warm and squiggly when he took too long undressing for bed one night. 

“Ugh,” was her seductive come-on.

“Yes, pet?” Spike paused from where he was rooting around for his sweatpants, perfect pale ass high in the air.

“Ugh,” she repeated, hand on the bandages around her waist. She toyed with them, grimacing when she found the slight pressure still hurt. God, what was _taking_ so long in there? She couldn’t even cuddle properly yet, and she was ready for something fast and hard.

Spike stared at her for a moment, obnoxiously, mouth-wateringly naked. “Translating to?”

Buffy sighed. “Translating to ‘I really want to have sex with you but we can’t yet.’”

Spike grinned. It was cute, the way he never seemed less delighted by her desire. As if she wasn’t well addicted by now.

And _crap_ if that wasn’t the right metaphor. Buffy Summers was having Spike withdrawals.

Spike sauntered over and pressed a cool kiss on her lips. “Sorry, love. Promise I’ll make it up to you when you’re all better.”

“I know,” Buffy sighed again. “But I want—I feel—I need something _now_.”

Spike slid his glance fluidly down to the crotch of her pajama shorts. “Could try again. Use my mouth, be real gentle. Take it so slow.”

Well, certain parts of her were in fine working order. _Put that on the medical chart, Doc._

Buffy shifted towards him and a lancing pain shot through her abdomen. “Not yet,” she winced. “So I return to _ugh.”_

Spike’s face fell and he turned quickly away. He found his sweatpants under the bed and tugged them up his legs. Buffy regretted the modesty, even though she was the one who’d insisted on it, in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to convince her sex drive that she wouldn’t be firing her engines anytime soon.

“You want the bed tonight, love?”

She’d been alternating sleeping in the recliner and on the bed. She couldn’t sleep next to Spike without instinctively curling into him during the night, aggravating her wounds.

“Nah, I’m good here.” Buffy leaned her head back against the cushion, trying to tell her body that it wasn’t getting any. She glanced over to the bed to say goodnight to Spike.

Who, it seemed, was having the same problem.

The sweatpants were doing nothing to hide his erection, although he was twisted slightly away from her like he was hoping she wouldn’t notice. She coughed slightly to let him know she’d foiled his devious plan.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You just got me thinking.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Think away. And don’t apologize. I only wish…” Suddenly her eyes lit up.

“What is it, Buffy-love?” There was a hint of breathlessness to Spike’s voice. God, she loved what she could do to him, wrapped in bandages, with a messy bun and a week without makeup.

“Can you… y’know, take care of yourself tonight?”

Spike tilted his head. “What now?”

Buffy blushed, because while she was a freaking supernatural firebomb in bed, _thankyouverymuch,_ dirty talk still didn’t come naturally.

“I want you to—to touch yourself. You know, like you do when you’re—waiting for me.”

Spike’s expression was uncertain. “Seems unfair to leave you out in the cold, like.”

“I think I—honestly, the way I’m feeling, it might be enough. Just, you know, watching.”

Spike leered. “A little personal porn before bed, Slayer?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m this close to not needing it.” Which was a lie, but she didn’t need his ego swelling too.

“Can’t have that, love.” Spike flopped back on the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. Then he peeled out of his sweatpants, stretching all his muscles languidly. His skin was warmed in the low lamplight, the darkened room drawing all her attention to him. Moments like these he was unearthly, and God help her, she wanted that. Craved those moments when she disassociated from everything ordinary and tedious. When they were sun and moon together, like Spike said once.

The fire surged again in Buffy’s belly.

“Any requests, sweetheart?”

How could a body that hard produce a voice so soft? The fire melted into gooey warmth. “No, just—you know, go to town, Spike.”

Spike chuckled as he laid his head back, then gasped in a breath as he drew a finger up his shaft. Buffy drew in a breath too, recognizing it as her own move. Even with her ten feet away, he still wanted to imagine she was in the bed with him. Her lower half tightened, far enough under the stab wounds that it didn’t hurt. Buffy smiled contentedly. _Yes, this could work just fine._

Spike's body arched as he stroked firmly up his cock, making soft, guttural sounds deep in his throat. His left hand danced over his ribs and down his thighs, teasing the soft hairs there, then gripping his own flesh hard. Spike had never minded a bit of rough treatment, but since he’d come back to the material world, he seemed to need to check every once in a while that his own body was more than a fantasy.

Buffy’s fingers flexed. That was her job, reminding him he was real. That they were real.

She pitched her voice low, trying to join him in the way she could. “That’s it, Spike. So good. Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” he breathed. Then, quietly, “miss you.”

“I’m right here.” She attempted a purr but it came out a bit hoarse. “Just admiring the view.”

“Doing my best, love.” He scooped his hand lower, rolling his balls in his palm. Buffy fought the urge to buck her own hips and focused instead on the pleasant clenching inside her. It wasn’t a tenth of the sensation she could have gotten with him, but it was a hundred percent more than she’d gotten in weeks. And she suspected any more would have hurt.

 _A good relationship is all about compromise,_ she thought, melting into the haze of bubbly pleasure.

Spike’s whole body was tense now, but his hand worked his prick surely and steadily. He was an arrowhead, the jagged edges of chin and cock and knees outlined in the air.

God, he was beautiful. She knew that, knew every shape and texture of him, but she usually had the closer view. There was something just as intimate about the distance, though, about being welcome to watch him in what should have been a vulnerable, private moment. About the way her own body reacted in time with his, like—like—like sonar. Echoes of his pleasure bouncing off her, so that they both knew exactly where the other was.

She began to make a syllable out of the sounds he was making. “Bu—Bu—Bu—”

“Right here, honey. Right here. Keep going. For me. Keep going for me.” There were curls of pleasure rolling up her spine now, all her insides coiling up delightfully. It was balm, after two weeks of pain.

Spike flicked his thumb across the head of his prick, his thighs clenching and unclenching in time with his fingers. _Give me a video camera and I could be a millionaire,_ Buffy thought hazily. Followed immediately by a deeper, more primal, possessive _Mine._

_All mine._

Her own breath was coming heavily, and she had just enough presence of mind to work on keeping it to the top of her lungs, her shoulders heaving instead of her bandaged belly. The burning pleasure was starting to be uncomfortable. She wanted Spike’s mouth, Spike’s fingers, Spike’s prick cooling the burn, or finally setting it to boil over.

She’d have to settle for her own.

Very gently, she placed two fingers on the outside of her shorts and pressed. Deep inside her, the heat skyrocketed. “Spike,” she whined.

She would have felt bad about the whining, except Spike wasn’t far off. “Slayer,” he hissed, so softly it was all one smooth syllable.

It was enough for her. She pressed harder, still even with the pressure, and finally felt the wave break inside her. It wasn’t much, as orgasms go, but it was enough for the night.

She snuggled deeper into the recliner to watch the end of The Spike Show. Both his hands were at play now, twisting and gripping and pulling, mouth open and brows drawn together.

Buffy watched in drowsy warmth as Spike came, body gouging into the mattress as if seeking the softness of her body. His whole body relaxed along with his cock, his head lolling to the side to seek her eyes.

“Did it work for you, love?”

Buffy flexed her curled toes. “It _so_ did.”

“Nice to know,” he smiled back. “Don’t even have to touch you. My wonderful Buffy.”

And for a second, bandaged and oily-haired and a bit drugged up, she felt wonderful.

“Night, Spike. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Slayer. My pleasure.”

Spike flung out an arm and the room went dark. Buffy closed her eyes.

Even so, she could _hear_ the smirk in Spike’s murmur.

“ _Literally_.”


End file.
